


JxHQ: Behind the Curtain

by MetallicJester



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:21:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29881047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MetallicJester/pseuds/MetallicJester
Summary: A one shot/drabble focusing on an instance in the clown couple's life as they prepare to go out to a job.
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Harleen Quinzel
Kudos: 2





	JxHQ: Behind the Curtain

**Author's Note:**

> Set from the Joker's POV so warnings for allusions to violence, blood and abuse.

The last hour before the show was always the most tantalising.

All other hours in the Funn’Ems Joke Shop were filled with noise, whether it be bickering, laughter or general rowdiness, it was always high with energy. Even when the occupants of the hideout were asleep, the gentle buzzing of the still operating rides in the long abandoned Amusement Mile echoed softly in the distance, police sirens following in suit.

The final hour before a heist however, was when silence was the only correct option. At least to **him**. Harley would occasionally hum to herself but she had learned not to stray too loud, or incorporate words into the tune. She had been taught many a time with the back of his hand, knuckles caught ripe against her cheekbone. The woman was young, she’d soon learn to shut up all together.

Nevertheless, tonight she was humming the Bugs Bunny theme tune.

The Joker sat there patiently in front of the body length mirror, uncorrupted and smooth. He remembered breaking the same mirror last week and yet here it was untouched and brand new. The corner of his mouth pulled downwards in a slight scowl, he assumed Harley had bought a new one. A body length mirror was necessary for him, a tall one at that. He needed to observe every inch of his appearance, pick apart every fibre of the Byzantium purple suit he now adorned.

This green shirt was his favourite, being speckled with darker green patterns and if one looked ever so close, a gold thread stitching that glistened in the light. His lip flickered as his burning green eyes fell upon the uneven pattern around the lower torso; _**he’d forgotten about that**_. He’d previously been caught in a shootout in this shirt and it had been punctured with bullets, as well as splattered with his blood. It had been Harley’s job to fix it up as he doubted they still made that specific shirt anymore and it was his _favourite_ , and oh the poor girl had tried. It was just such a shame that her stitching was so... _amateur_.

He’d have to talk to her about it later.

His sunshine yellow blazer was pure silk and soft to the touch, custom made by an Italian tailor over in the Diamond District. A compartment to the side of said blazer stored many a small knife, with the larger ones laid flat against his leg or _quite literally_ up his sleeve. The cold metal pressed against his skin and he grinned, taking a deep inhale.

As the exhale slipped past his crimson lips, Harley exited the en suite bathroom. His eyes transitioned over to her and stayed transfixed as he took a long, sudden stride toward her. They caught the quick movement of her chest upwards as her breath hitched, as much as she tried to hide it; he could pick out even the smallest of reactions.

Nonetheless, she knew the routine and so she kept her back straight, posture proper and ladylike, with an anxiously forced smile on her lips.

Those milky whites rolled up and down her body under lazy eyelids. He noted the red and black jester shoes, clean and free from the blood they had been splattered with on the last operation. Her red and black catsuit - handmade by the best criminal tailor in Gotham, Piero D’Angelou - fitted her perfectly snug, with the coated material shining bright and the individual specks of glitter in both colours peaking through under the ugly lighting of the room. As he walked around her and inspected every inch of the suit he found no holes, albeit several signs that she had haphazardly sewn up several. Nevertheless, the material stayed taut and none of her pink skin was apparent through the stitching.Trailing upwards he lifted her white silk collar with a similarly white gloved hand, watching as the pom pom on the end of one end flopped over lifelessly in his grasp. She kept it mostly pinned to her chest to avoid it flipping onto her face when she was performing the much more physical side of her act.

Her own gloved hands clenched together as she avoided chewing on her lip, which would surely mess up her black lipstick, swiped with a red highlight. His eyes ran over her face, her baby blues staring out at him before glancing away and choosing that staring at him was in fact rude.

The white of her clown paint was pure uncoloured white with shades of grey under the cheek, unlike the blue tinged white of his bleached skin. It had a soft texture against her skin, giving her the appearance of a doll. How _easily_ she could break under his touch, how that soft white would smudge red and glisten with her tears. The thought crossed his mind and he couldn’t help but lift the corner of his mouth in a sly manner. She had powdered her face to near insanity in order to keep the sweat and rain from causing it to budge, and so he doubted that it would ruin as he suffocated her and crushed her little neck like a bird. The makeup under her black domino mask was a neat swipe of black, often alternating between grey or blue as a base. Today she wore blue.

The jester hat that adorned her head was exceptionally cute he had to admit, having picked it out himself. The lilliripes poked upwards, holding her blonde her underneath. He released a content sigh. She took this to be a pleasant thing as she tilted her head back up to look at him.

He took note of the way she clutched her hands to her chest, anxiously bouncing from foot to foot as she waited for his approval. The corners of her wide eyes were creasing in a smile. The Joker pondered how satisfying it would be to deny her his thoughts and to instead pick apart her mistakes, her shoddy work; to watch that glee in her eyes fade as she popped her lip out in a trembling pout.

It would be fun to see her crumble so easily as she was _oh so desperate_ to please him, but he needed her on the top of her game tonight. The show was about to begin and he wouldn’t have a sulking little clown girl messing up something he’d been planning for weeks now. Of course, there would be plenty of time for mind games if they evaded the law after this stunt, many a time for messing with her head. Perhaps he’d leave her behind this time so she’d be caught and taken to Arkham again, that always seemed to cheer him up. In a cell she could stew for a while until he got bored and admitted that the place was a lot more organised with her there to tidy up after him.

Plus, she never really stayed mad at him for long.

He extended a purple clad arm out to her with a grin. “Shall we, Miss Quinn?” he purred, his eyelids drooping alluringly.

She gave a noise of excitement, reminding him very much of Jayne Mansfield, an actress he’d quickly had to introduce her to along with countless other vintage classics. The girl grasped his arm with red and black hands, giving him yet another beam this time with ivory teeth, her face almost splitting with the joy.

She skipped to keep pace as he began to walk to the door.


End file.
